Hijack: A Sgt Major Crane crime thriller (A Sgt Major Crane Novel Book 6)

by Wendy Cartmell

  Billy had no idea what on earth was going on, but as Kourash raised his own gun, Billy was sensible enough to realise that with two guns trained on him, one in the hands of an emotionally deranged girl and one in the hands of an unpredictable mad man, he had no choice but to do as he was told.

  Slowly, slowly, he walked backwards and then sank into the nearest seat. But his eyes never left Emma’s. Once Billy was seated, Emma seemed to sag, her knees buckling, the gun shaking wildly in her hands.

  Kourash stepped over his fallen fellow hijacker and reached Emma’s side. Taking the gun out of her hand, he put his arm around her, kissed the top of her head and said, ‘Thank you, my pretty.’

  Kourash led Emma away, kicking the injured man back to life as he walked past him. Billy watched them in astonishment. Had he really just seen Emma side with the hijackers?

  ‘Are you okay?’ Mick asked him.

  ‘What? Oh, yes, thanks, it just... Emma?’

  ‘I know,’ Peggy said, joining them, ‘That poor girl.’

  ‘What do you mean that poor girl?’ Mick spluttered. ‘She’s gone over to the other side!’

  ‘There must be a reason for it,’ Peggy said.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Hazel. ‘She has seemed lonely and sort of isolated from everyone somehow. Maybe she related better to Kourash than she did any of us.’

  ‘Well, in that case we’ve failed her,’ said Peggy. ‘We should have done something when we saw the signs.’

  ‘She forever had her head in that book,’ Mick said. ‘It acted as a barrier, keeping us all at a distance.’

  ‘In Cold Blood,’ Billy muttered.

  ‘What?’ said Mick.

  ‘That’s what she is reading. A book about two young men from America who broke into a house and robbed, then killed, the whole family.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Talk about life imitating art,’ said Peggy.

  ‘You’re all taking this very well,’ Billy shook his head. ‘Aren’t you angry? Because I bloody well am.’

  ‘Anger won’t get us anywhere,’ said Hazel. ‘Emma’s gone and that’s that.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Billy. ‘I just hope she’ll be okay up there with him,’ and all three turned to look at the closed driver’s cab door.

  Day Three

  08:00 hours

  Crane grabbed his first coffee of the day, a fresh packet of cigarettes and his jacket, before walking out onto the platform of Ribblehead Station. His deep breaths of fresh air brought on a coughing fit. When it subsided, he lit his first cigarette of the day. Looking at the new packet he’d just opened, he wondered if he could keep his consumption down to twenty a day. But there was fat chance of that. As this was his last packet, he’d have to send someone out for supplies.

  He’d needed to get out of the waiting room, where the television sets were showing the morning news shows. Each one had appeals on it from family members of the hostages, who had been divided equally between Sky News, BBC News and Good Morning.

  The faces might be different, but the stories were the same.

  ‘Please let my wife go. She’s pregnant. I’m worried about our unborn baby.’

  ‘My Mick never hurt anyone in his life. I don’t understand why the hijackers are doing this.’

  ‘Please let Peggy go. Tell the hostages her husband and children need her returned safely.’

  ‘My daughter is too young to cope with this on her own. Take me and let her go.’

  ‘All I want is my son and husband back. I’m praying every day for their safe return.’

  The only family not appearing on television was Billy’s. It had been decided not to let Billy’s parents know that he was on the train. As the authorities couldn’t physically stop them talking to people about their son, even though the need for secrecy would be spelled out, no one was willing to take a chance. Crane could only pray there would be a good outcome for Billy. Either way, he would personally apologise to Billy’s family for keeping them in the dark, after this was all over.

  The hostage’s pictures were flashed up on the television screens every few minutes. It was like a wall of death, conjuring up images in Crane’s head of when soldiers were killed ‘in theatre’ and the news channels put up pictures of the fallen.

  Articles about the hostages and their families had appeared in every national newspaper. Copies of them all were littered around the waiting room and wherever Crane went, he couldn’t get away from their faces. Thank God no one had put them in Keane’s broom-cupboard of a shop, where he talked to Kourash. Anyone looking at the pictures couldn’t fail to be affected.

  Crane was just about ready to return to the fray, when his phone rang. It was his wife, Tina.

  ‘Tom, it’s just so awful,’ she said as soon as he answered her call. ‘It’s all over the television. What’s going to happen to those poor people? Will you get them out?’

  ‘I’m sure everything will be fine,’ Crane said, the platitude sounding trite even to him.

  ‘When is something going to be done about rescuing them?’ It seemed Tina wasn’t about to stop pressing him for information.

  ‘Look, love, you know I can’t talk about anything like that.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry. But what about... is he okay?’

  ‘Yes, he’s okay.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise, Tina.’

  ‘Alright, but how are you coping? Are you getting enough rest?’

  Crane decided only a civilian could ask that question and it made him smile. Even though Tina was an army wife, she still tried to mother him, tried to look after Crane as she did their son. For once, Crane decided to tell her the truth.

  ‘It’s difficult,’ he admitted. ‘Sleep is only snatched and doesn’t come easily. My head’s still buzzing when I lie down. Full of the hijacker’s demands, trying to work out what is best for everyone involved and the things I see when I do the supply runs. That’s the worst really, the supply runs.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m so close, yet so far away,’ Crane said. ‘I’m within touching distance of Kourash, but I can’t take him out, as we’re all unarmed. If we tried anything the other hijacker’s would no doubt kill the hostages immediately. And there’s always one hostage with Kourash and he’s holding a gun to his or her head, so I have to be careful not to react or anger him in any way. So, yes, it’s difficult.’

  ‘Well it will be, Tom,’ she said. ‘But I know you’ll do your best to help get everyone out safely.’

  ‘But it’s a big ask of the SAS, Tina. Just because everyone is clamouring for the special services to go in, it doesn’t mean everyone will make it out alive - soldiers or hostages.’

  There. He’d said it. Faced his fear, for by ‘everyone’ Crane actually meant Billy.

  There was a pause before she said, ‘Then that’s something you will have to accept and deal with. Are the odds good?’

  ‘Pretty good,’ he said.

  ‘Well then, that’s the best you can do. Surely it’s better than doing nothing.’

  Crane nodded his agreement, even though Tina couldn’t see the gesture. Then, determined to push away negative thoughts and emotions, he said to her, ‘Look, I’ve got to go.’

  ‘I understand,’ she said. Whether she did or not, at least the sentiment was there, Crane thought. ‘Take care of yourself, Tom. Don’t do anything stupid.’

  Crane assured her he wouldn’t and after sending a kiss to Daniel, ended the call. He stood on the station platform a few minutes longer. His problem was that he was trying to find a way through the chaos of Kourash’s making. So he had to fall back on his training. Follow his orders and try to do his best. Whilst anticipating the worst.

  08:30 hours

  The new day dawned slowly on the train. Billy and the others trooped in turn to the toilet and tried their best to freshen up. Toothbrushes and other essentials had been sent in, so they had the means of cleaning themselves up. What they lacked was the
will to do it.

  None of the hostages had been allowed a change of clothes. Another ploy to keep them subdued, to reinforce the fact that Kourash had complete control of them. Controlled what they wore, what they ate and what they drank. He also controlled when they would be allowed to leave the train - if ever.

  Emma hadn’t been seen since yesterday and Billy wondered if she’d crept into the carriage whilst they were all asleep. Her book had gone and so had her glasses. There was nothing left in the carriage to remind them of her.

  According to Crane this was to be their last day on the train. That should have perked Billy up. But strangely it didn’t. Billy’s brain and body were becoming sluggish. Being imprisoned in the train for the last 48 hours, coupled with the lack of fresh air and exercise was taking its toll.

  A rumble from his stomach alerted Billy to the fact that no breakfast had been brought through yet. They’d not been given anything for dinner last night either, so they’d had to resort to eating what was left over from previous meals. Peggy had tried to dole the food out equally, but most of them had given Charlie a bit extra out of their own meagre rations.

  Billy stood, stretched and decided to find out what was happening. The two hijackers in the carriage were wary of him, after his attempt to grab a gun yesterday, so when Billy approached them, asking to be let through to Kourash, they agreed without hesitation.

  As Billy entered the small space, Kourash was on the phone, presumably to the negotiator. Emma looked up as Billy entered and moved away from him, as though she felt the need to put as much space between them as possible. She shrunk into the farthest corner, turning her gaze firmly onto Kourash.

  ‘What are you trying to do?’ Kourash spat into the phone. ‘Why are you hurting your own people like this?’

  ‘Calm down, Kourash, it’s just that we’ve had some logistical problems.’

  Billy heard the negotiator’s voice coming faintly through the receiver Kourash was holding.

  ‘Well sort out your bloody logistical problems and get some food and water sent up to the train. Within the hour.’

  ‘Or what?’

  ‘Or I’ll start killing hostages. I’ve had enough of your lies and empty promises.’

  Kourash slammed down the phone and turned on Billy. ‘What the fuck do you want?’

  ‘I wanted to know when we’d be getting food and water, but it seems you’re having trouble getting some.’ Billy had decided to poke the open sore of Kourash’s anger.

  ‘It’s your bloody negotiator’s fault. Not mine. So go back and tell that lot that they’ll just have to wait for their food and drink.’

  ‘Things not going so well?’ Billy smiled, a sardonic grin, rather than a beam.

  ‘Never you mind how things are going,’ replied Kourash and raised his gun. ‘Just remember, if the idiot of a negotiator doesn’t come up with some supplies, one of you is going to die! So tell that to your friends in the carriage. That’ll stop them moaning about food. Instead they can wonder which one of them is about to spend their last hour on this earth.’

  The gun Kourash was holding was swinging and swaying in his hand as he gesticulated wildly, his eyes wide and staring. His hold on reason was clearly diminishing as the days dragged on, the pressure getting to him. It appeared Kourash was turning into a tin pot dictator, losing his grip on reality and over estimating his power. But that, of course, made him even more dangerous. Even more of a threat, as far as the hostages were concerned.

  Billy put his hands up and backed away. ‘Okay, okay, I’m going,’ he said and retreated through the doorway. His message to his fellow captors would be that breakfast should arrive in about an hour. He was going to keep the accompanying threat to himself.

  He was still concerned about Emma. She had very deliberately not looked at him whilst he was in the driver’s cab. But her body was stiff and she seemed uncomfortable in Billy’s presence. Displaying guilt? Regret? Billy hoped so, but couldn’t be sure. Still it was her decision to make, to side with Kourash, so she’d just have to face any consequences brought on by her actions.

  But on the other hand... she was so young. A pampered and cosseted young girl who had no idea what terrible things went on in the world. It was as if she were playing out the role of Truman Capote in the bloody stupid book she was reading. Billy had skipped through it while Emma was enjoying one of her prolonged visits with Kourash. He now realised that Emma was reading the book that he vaguely remembered was chronicled in the film ‘Capote’. In the film, it was clear Truman Capote made the killers think he was their friend, in order to get close to them and to be able to write about them from a position of authority. He didn’t actually want to befriend them, just wanted their secrets. But Billy wondered if Emma had gotten the wrong end of the stick and wasn’t pretending to be close to Kourash and was actually spellbound by his looks, his air of authority and commitment to his cause. If that were the case, through her naivety, she warranted Billy’s pity, not anger.

  Crane had returned to the command centre, just in time to hear Keane’s conversation with Kourash.

  ‘You are going to send in supplies, aren’t you?’ he asked Keane after he finished talking to Kourash.

  ‘Of course, I just don’t want him to think he has the upper hand. I want him to realise he can’t make demands and get everything he wants.’

  ‘But now he’s threatening to kill a hostage if he doesn’t get food and fresh water.’

  ‘I know that, don’t worry, it’s just posturing,’ Keane tried to reassure Crane, who wasn’t convinced. ‘It’s like a chess game,’ Keane continued. ‘We make our next move, based on the previous move of the adversary.’

  ‘That’s all very well if you have a sane partner to play with. Kourash is far from sane and completely unpredictable.’

  ‘Please, Crane. I do know what I’m doing,’

  ‘I bloody well hope so.’

  ‘Stop it, Sgt Major,’ Booth snapped. ‘Keane is doing a very difficult job under extreme circumstances. Don’t make things harder by criticising him. I understand that your normal demeanour is to pick the bones out of every situation, that’s why you are an investigator. But this is a different situation entirely. Perhaps if you were to shut up and observe, you might learn something. Now go and get ready to deliver the supplies.’

  The rebuke stung. But Crane could see the old man had a point. So he put his hands up in mock surrender and went to help load the supplies onto the truck. Time would tell who was right. But in the meantime Crane was certainly learning new skills in manipulation and negotiation. And that wasn’t such a bad thing, he had to admit.

  09:00 hours

  The familiar rumble of the truck on the track, heralding new supplies, was greeted with anticipation by the hostages.

  ‘I wonder what’s for breakfast,’ Hazel mused.

  ‘I hope it’s those croiss, croisssss... what are they called dad?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘Croissants, son.’

  ‘Oh yeah, that’s right, croissants. I liked those.’ David jiggled up and down in his seat. ‘Do we have any jam left, Peggy? They were really scrummy with jam.’

  Peggy smiled at the boy and went to the food supplies heaped in a jumble on a spare table between four empty seats. As she was sorting through the tins and jars, under the watchful eye of a hijacker’s gun, Kourash burst into the carriage.

  ‘David!’ he shouted. ‘Come here.’

  ‘What? Why? Billy? What’s going on?’

  ‘Never mind what’s going on, I need you up here to help,’ said Kourash.

  ‘But, but, Billy normally does that. Help with the supplies.’

  ‘Well today’s not normal so fucking get a move on.’ Kourash was clearly losing patience with David, so Billy intervened. ‘Kourash, please...’

  ‘And you can fuck off as well,’ snapped Kourash, swinging his gun around to train it on Billy. Billy opened his mouth to reply, but Hazel grabbed his arm.

  ‘Sit down, Billy, there
’s nothing you can do.’

  As Billy acceded to her request, he watched as David was grabbed roughly by one of the hijackers, his hands grasping either side of David’s jacket as he pulled him up and out of his seat. Another prised Charlie’s fingers off his dad’s arm. A protesting David was bundled into the driver’s cab, into Kourash’s clutch, all the time followed by his son’s wails. As the hijacker moved away, Billy and the others could see through the open driver’s door. Kourash and David were stood slightly back from the opening. The wind blew Kourash’s curls, whipping them around his shoulders like writhing snakes. He held David by the collar of his stained and worn shirt with one hand. The other hand held a pistol which was pressed to David’s head.

  Peggy grabbed Charlie as he attempted to run to his father. He was crying and screaming hysterically, ‘Dad! Dad! I want my dad!’

  Charlie tried his best to wriggle out of Peggy’s embrace, desperate to reach his father. But she was too quick for him. Enfolding him in a bear hug, she held him close, bending her head to whisper in his ear.

  ‘It’s alright. Dad will come back. He’ll only be a little while,’ and she led him to a seat where Charlie’s screams subsided into heart-breaking sobs. Billy could only watch and hope Peggy was right.

  The supplies were brought on board, under the watchful eye of Kourash, who never once relaxed his grip on David’s clothes, nor taken the pistol away from David’s head. When the exchange was finished and the delivery truck was rumbling its way backwards along the tracks, the supplies were brought into the carriage and placed on a table. The enticing smell of freshly ground coffee filled the carriage and Billy realised how much he needed his morning caffeine fix.

  Hazel stood, grabbed some paper cups and started to pour the coffee for them. Peggy had managed to get Charlie to stop crying with the promise of a croissant. Mick stood, complaining that his stomach was rumbling and he needed food before he wasted away, bringing the expected laughs from his fellow hostages. As they all relaxed and settled down with their breakfast, Billy fully expected David to be brought back into the carriage. Instead Kourash lifted the phone.